


And I Feel Fine

by Catchclaw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: End of the World, First Time, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 20:30:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the end of the world. For real, this time. And for once, it's got nothing to do with Sam and Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Feel Fine

"It's the end of the world," Sam said.

Dean crowded up behind him, trying to read over his shoulder.

"What? Do what now, Sam?"

Sam held up the newspaper, a little worse for wear: "The end of the world. See?"

"Is that a comet?" Dean asked, peering.

"I guess. Or maybe an asteroid. Doesn't look like they're too sure."

They stood there, boots locked into the dirt, staring at a two-week old _USA Today_ , the headline proclaiming death and destruction even as the mountains around them sighed blissfully in the October sun.

"Huh," Dean said, finally. "When?"

Sam checked the date. "In about a week, it looks like."

"Huh," Dean said again, squinting out over the main drag. "Guess everybody hightailed it to greener pastures. Would explain why there's nobody around."

"Yeah," Sam said absently, tossing the paper back into its box.

There was a long silence.

"So!" Dean barked. "It's the real fucking end of the world, Sammy. And for once, we got no parts to play. How awesome is that?"

Sam turned, his grin mirroring Dean's own. "That is pretty goddamn amazing, dude."

"HA!" Dean hooted, sketching a little jig in the dirt. "All right all right. Let's _Red Dawn_ this mother."

They raided the gas station, the tiny grocery, and a couple of houses until the backseat was full of food and the trunk was overflowing with beer. The electricity was still working, so Dean pumped as much gas as they could carry into various and sundry containers and balanced the whole mess just so inside his baby's frame.

By dusk, they'd turned back up into the mountains, headed for the camp they'd abandoned the previous night.

"Ew," Sam said, when they tumbled out around three. "I guess we shoulda buried that werecat corpse, huh?"

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Gross, Sam. There are rats. I'm not sleeping with friggin' rats running around nearby."

Sam questioned Dean's manliness, Dean tried to reassert it with his fist, and they wasted 10 minutes of their last week on earth rustling around in the dirt, shrieking (Dean) and swearing (Sam) until they finally came to their senses.

Well, until Dean somehow found himself rutting against Sam's hip, the smell of werecat blood in his mouth and Sam's little moans in his ear, and hell, it was the end of the fucking world, right?

He managed to drag them both into the front seat, to get his fly open and Sam's mouth between his legs before he lost it: came way too fast, moaned something incredibly embarrassing, and then sucked his come off Sam's knotty tongue.

And it was so much the end of the world that Sam didn't get schmoopy, after. Just growled and yanked open his jeans and closed Dean's fist beneath his own. Shot between them as they kissed, his mouth sliding halfway to Sunday, his breath still and familiar beside Dean's own.

In the morning, the werecat was still rotting, the rats were still running, and Dean was sure as fuck not gonna spend his last six days on earth dealing with that shit. So he drove higher into the mountains, up towards the lake they'd skirted the week before, and watched Sam sleep it off.

Sam bitched about setting up the tent, whined about Dean's terrible cooking skills, complained about the mosquitoes. But when he emerged from the lake, all golden and clean and shaking in the sunshine, he let Dean drive him into the grass, let him lick all freaking over until he was whining again, pushing his skin into Dean's hands and begging, freaking begging, to get fucked.

And with Sam's legs around his waist, the long stupid hair in his fist, that deep slow voice promising, pleading, cajoling, anything, _anything_ , if Dean would just fuck him harder already, well.

Dean might have felt like the end of the world was the best thing to ever happen to him.

It was a week like that: eating and drinking and talking, saying all kinds of crazy shit about love and souls and forever that Dean frankly would have found terrifying in any other circumstances. He spent hours buried under Sam's body, or curled into its core, or stretched open and needy at its advance. He let Sam see things, go places in him that nobody had ever bothered to explore before, but, at some level he knew: that's the way it had always been between them. Just--they'd never had occasion to say so, was all.

On the last night, the comet or asteroid or whatever was freaking huge in the sky. Drowned out half the stars and and pushed the moon behind a fiery curtain.

Sam went slow. Did this weird thing where he got Dean off right away--his tongue his eyes enough to make Dean nova in his face--and then tucked Dean into the sleeping bags laid out next to the fire. He wrapped Dean in his arms and kissed him, easy and familiar and right, until the embers in the fire were dying, until the end of the world was hanging right the fuck overhead.

He sat up, and Dean reached out and tucked his hair behind his ears. Because Dean wanted to see.

Sam gave him this beautiful smile, happy and young and safe, that smile.

"I love you," he said. Simple. Final.

Dean blinked. Brushed his fingers over Sam's lips, watched him turn into the touch.

"Yeah," he said, his voice a little heavy. "Love you, too, Sammy."

So when the world ended--for good, this time, for real--Sam and Dean were intertwined, so much so that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

And it won't surprise you to know, I suspect, that the little bit of heaven that is theirs looks very much like this: a scrubby camp on the side of a lake, a trunk full of beer, and two hands two smiles spilled together in the dirt.

**Author's Note:**

> For 2spookybrothers, by way of thanks.


End file.
